Louder Kinds of Quiet
"How did you meet your wife?"
Antioch, scanner in paw, eyes flickering lightly, replied, "Same way anyone meets anyone, I guess. We just sort of ... ran into each other." A pause. A knowing smile. "Literally." His tail flickered about, whooshing quietly in the air. His roundish ears swivelled.
Seward waited. Waited. And finally said, "Elaborate."
A relenting giggle-chitter. "Well, we were both on shore leave, and ... I wasn't looking where I was going. Marmots are bigger than other rodents, you know, so ... she got knocked to the ground. Dropped all her things. I stammered an apology, and ... helped her," he breathed, "and we ended up talking, and ... " He trailed. His whiskers twitched. He padded a few steps, eying his scanner. "I know it SOUNDS easy ... you know, in telling. But, at the time, it didn't feel easy at all." Pause. "It took a while," he assured.
Seward blinked, a scanner in his own paw.
The marmot paused, squinting. He tapped at his scanner. Beep-a-beep. "The guidance system on this torpedo ... " A shake of the head. " ... looks like it might be defective."
"I will replace it in the morning," Seward assured, his slender antennae-ears waggling. Waggle-waggle.
They were in the armory, checking weapons. Torpedoes. Phase canon cells. As well as phase rifles, pistols. Paw-held weapons. This was their jurisdiction, after all, being tactical/security officers. They were charged with keeping the crew safe. Defending the ship. And part of that involved going through everything, one by one, double-checking on functionality. And with war so near, they couldn't afford to get into battle and have any of these things fail on them.
"But ... " The snow rabbit's voice trailed. As he tried to ask a question. Unsure of how to word it. Beep-a-beep. Bop. A breath, and a sigh. "When did you know it was love?" he whispered, somewhat shyly. As if he shouldn't be asking this. And, after all, he was a snow rabbit, yes? Why should he need to know about love?
Antioch paused, his brushy marmot-tail flickering a bit. Making more rustling sounds as it moved. "I guess I knew," he said, softly. A pause. He looked to the floor, eyes losing focus. A breath. And a blink. And, looking to the snow rabbit, said, "I guess I knew when she took my paw ... very gently," he remembered. "We were in public. It was a Sunday. Before Reverie's launch. She'd just been promoted ... but she took my paw, meshed her fingers with mine. And gave a squeeze." A pause. Another sigh. "And then she leaned her head on my shoulder." Another breath. "I stopped walking, and ... I hugged her. Right there. We stood like that for ... almost a minute. Before we started walking again, back to wherever it was we were going ... "
A confused blink. "And ... and that was love? A squeeze and a hug?" The snow rabbit furrowed his brow.
"Well, not in WORDS, no ... she didn't say the words until a few days later. Neither of us did. And that's how I ended up being her first officer, and ... " A bashful smile at that. And a sincere, "But ... that moment of quiet, innocent affection between us, it was ... still is," he corrected, "something that I remember."
"Affection? So ... affection is ... "
" ... no, affection ... it's not automatically love. Sometimes, affection is just ... a feel-good thing." A pause. A whisker-twitch, trying to think about this. He stopped his scanning for a moment, leaning against a container. "But, sometimes, it's more. It can be a result of love ... a sign of it."
"I still do not understand," was Seward's weak, whisker-twitching response. His black nose sniffed. "I did not know love was ... so complicated." His bobtail flickered. "I simply want a clear way of knowing," he admitted, "when it IS ... and when it is not."
"Well, it's not something tangible, Seward. It's ... in my case, I just KNEW. When that happened, when she took my paw and leaned on me ... and let me hug her like that, so closely, with that sort of ease and trust, you know ... I knew it was love."
"So why did you not say the words at that moment? Why did you both wait? If it was apparent, why ... "
" ... because, we were ... probably a little scared."
"Love is ... scary?" He bit his lip, even more confused.
A sigh, and a smile. A small shake of the head. "No. No," he whispered. "It's not scary. It's ... the vulnerability that's scary. You open yourself up to be hurt. Very badly, even. But ... " A head-tilt, now. " ... that's just a chance you have to take." A breath. "It's worth it," he whispered. His mind drifted to Talkeetna. His wife, the love of his life. A sigh.
Seward furrowed his brow, considering all this.
The marmot blinked. Then asked, looking to him, "Why? Why do you wanna know all this?"
Seward hesitated.
But Antioch waited. Patiently.
The snow rabbit exhaled through his cool-to-the-touch nose, which gave a few twitch-sniffs. And then went still. He swallowed, admitting, "I ... recently, I have begun to form an attachment to Aisling."
The marmot raised a silvery-grey brow.
"It goes beyond ... it ... I feel a great affection for her. A great concern." A pause. "I had not thought that possible. It does not make sense."
A warm smile. "Sometimes, it doesn't."
Seward looked concerned. He shifted a bit on his foot-paws. "Being around you, and the others ... your friends," he elaborated, swallowing. A deep breath. "I have begun to think of things. Ideas. Philosophies." A pause. "I have begun to want ... more," he confessed, eyes darting. Finally stopping, meeting Antioch's gaze. "I want her." An uncomfortable pause. "But she does reciprocate the ... the want."
"Are you sure?" was the whisper.
"She has not reciprocated," he repeated.
"That's not what I meant," Antioch said. "I mean ... alright, you're sure she's not reciprocating. That's clear. But ... are you sure she doesn't WANT to? Like I said, vulnerability can be very scary ... " A momentary pause. Commenting, quietly, "I saw you this morning. At church." The warm-blood furs, as well as Graham, Ada, and a few other snow rabbits, had held a service in the simulation room. "In the back pew."
Seward said nothing.
"You didn't take communion."
"I did not feel," was the honest, whispered response, "I was ready to."
The marmot nodded, thoughtfully. Whispering back, "That's okay. I was just ... " A friendly smile. " ... was just glad to see you there."
Seward's eyes darted. A nod.
And the marmot took a deep breath. "Well," he announced, looking around. "We got weapons to calibrate."
"Yes," the snow rabbit agreed, in his proper, civil tone.
"I think we're almost done, though. I've finished with the photon torpedoes ... how many quantum torpedoes and tri-cobalt devices do we have?"
"We carry fewer of those," was the response, "than we do regular torpedoes."
"Then we should be done in no time." A smile. "Shall we get back to it?"
Seward allowed himself an eye-smile. And a nod.
"I was challenged to a wrestling match," Graham commented, eye-smiling, on his back, on the soft navy-blue sheets of their bed. Outside the windows, the stars were stationary. Yellowknife had reached the rendezvous coordinates. And was waiting for the task force to arrive.
"What? When?" Ada blinked, her paw on his bare, snowy-white belly. His fur so, so soft. So pure. She stroked his belly a bit. Up. Down.
"By Antioch ... he did not say when. Just that he wants to."
Her paw slid up to his chest, waiting for an elaboration on that. Rub. Wait. Rub-rub.
"Apparently," he continued, letting out a soft, contented breath, "marmots are expert wrestlers. Antioch has no fellow marmots to wrestle with ... so, he asked me."
"You do not wrestle," Ada said, eye-smiling. The idea filled her with mirth. "You do not ... you would lose," was the declaration.
"That is not," Graham assured her, at a tender whisper, muzzle pointed in her direction, "the point." His ice-blue eyes sparkled. And he narrowed them, playfully. "You do not have confidence in my ... "
" ... physical strength? You are strong," she assured. "But you are a snow rabbit. Your strength is in your legs. Your foot-paws. Not your arms or upper body. You will lose." She said all this in a gentle, airy way. She enjoyed teasing him.
"We shall see."
Ada put her nose in her husband's fur. Sighing out, breathing in. A soft, soft mew-sound from her throat, as her eyes went to a peaceful close. "Why can't he wrestle with holograms?"
"He says it is not the same." A pause. "But I believe it is because he wishes to become friends with me ... he said he's already wrestled with Seward."
"So, wrestling is a ... marmot bonding exercise?"
"According to the computer's species database: 'hoary marmots often wrestle with each other for hours. They will also stand on their foot-paws and push at each other with their paws.'
"What very curious," Ada breathed, mouthing her husband's fur, "creatures."
"I'm sure there are more curious," he responded, his paw on her side, rubbing slowly up and down. " ... more curious ones." His paw went behind her, gripping at her rump-cheek. Soft, white-furred rump-cheek. "Mm ... "
"Lucky that us snow rabbits ... are not among them," she said, with a veiled 'joking' tone. "Lucky that we are perfectly," she breathed, "normal."
"Lucky, indeed." He massaged her rump, and then moved his paw to her fluffy bobtail. Petting it a bit.
A pause.
"Ada ... "
" ... yes?"
"I do not like this ... this waiting," he whispered.
"For the fighting to start?"
"It gives me too much time to think," he admitted, nodding lightly. His head-fur going rustle-rustle on his pillow. "I admit that ... I have confidence. We've won other wars. We are more ... tested," he decided, "than the Furry Federation. More unified. We should," he whispered, "win." A pause. "But 'should' does not mean much ... when it comes to war. Or any kind of reality." He swallowed. "Sometimes, war does not seem like reality. It seems like ... "
" ... a nightmare," Ada supplied. A sigh through the nose. "That's because it is."
Graham nodded thoughtfully. And sighed. "The furs on those Federation ships will be GOOD furs ... warm-blood furs. Some will be predators. But many of them will be prey." A pained expression on his muzzle. "We will have to kill them ... or they will kill us." He let that hang in the air. "I cannot keep doing this. Ada ... "
" ... darling ... "
" ... I am only twenty-two. This will be my ... third," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut, "war. I cannot do this anymore." A pause. A few breaths. "Other furs will look at us and say how lucky we are ... that we cannot fully feel. That we cannot cry, for instance." His whiskers gave a singular twitch. "But there are times when I would give most anything for the ability ... to sob," he told her. "For, not being able to, how am I to cleanse the sadness from my body?"
"You give it to Christ. He bears our burdens."
Graham closed his eyes. "You are correct. Of course. And I have done, and I shall do," he said, honestly, "so. But ... I still wish, now and then, for the ability to cry."
"Darling ... "
" ... I love you. If something happens ... know that I love you," he breathed, so delicately. With his restrained, civil tone. His snow rabbit sense of control. The emotions not easily readable. But there, in the background. And she could intuit them. She knew what he was trying to convey.
And she said, "As I love you, as well. Always," she assured.
"Ada ... "
" ... relax," was the response. "Please. No more troublesome talk. Let us forget of it ... if only for a moment." She stopped him before he could say anything further, silently slipping a finger into his fuzzy, white sheath. Her furry finger-tip touching his raw, pink penis-head, which was snugly out of sight. And, therefore, snugly trapped. Unable to avoid her direct, sensitive touches. Touch. Touch-touch. "Are you relaxing?"
A weak, shaky mew. The worries fading (somewhat; rather, they hid in the corner of his mind, like predators). A slight squirm.
"What was that?" she whispered, sensuously. Finger. Touch-touch.
Mew!
"Mew?" she repeated, teasing him in her restrained, proper way. Easing in her posture, and easing in her tone. They needed this. Not just because their breeding drives demanded it. But emotionally, mentally. They needed some 'fun,' some 'play.' She fingered the inside of his sheath. "What is 'mew'?"
Mew ... mew, he went. Like a baby. Feeling somewhat of a fool. A snow rabbit, and a captain, nonetheless, and all it took was a simple touch to render him helpless. But, oh, he didn't care. He decided he didn't care. It felt too good. His eyes screwed shut, lips parted, muzzle open. His sensitive penis-head touched, pushed. Fingered. His breath shook. And his organ began to tick, tick, tick with blood. Began to fill. Which, in turn, swelled his sheath. Mew.
Ada withdrew her finger. "I see ... 'mew' is excited. 'Mew' is happy. 'Mew'," she whispered, "is pleasure ..." She fondled his genitals. His fuzzy sheath, the furry sac. And the emerging pink shaft of blood-stiffened flesh. Her soft, nimble fingers deftly stroked the skin of his shaft. Ticking it upward with more blood. Coaxing a full erection. Coaxing it out. "Good boy," she soothed, approvingly, encouragingly. "Good boy ... " A paw firmly gripped his emerged penis.
Graham swallowed, hard. Panting, now. Pant, pant. Pant. "Oh ... oh ... " He felt a hot shiver. Running from his cool, black nose to his flickering bobtail, which was pinned between his backside and the sheets.
Ada shifted to her knees, now, resting on her shins. Her ice-blue eyes sparkled. She was, as snow rabbits went, very playful. Sensual, of course. But not just in a 'let's breed' kind of way. No, her sensuality came from a fiery passion, a tenderness. From love. She loved him, and she wasn't afraid to show it. True, she couldn't express it fully. Her emotions were still frozen. But she could hint at what she felt. She could show it in her gestures, her whispers. And in her eyes. Oh, she could show him.
"W-what ... what are ... "
" ... I am going," she breathed, pupils dilated, licking her dry lips. "I am going to take care of you. You needn't," she panted, "worry."
He swallowed, taking a deep breath. Holding it. And letting it out as a hot, heavy sigh. "Oh ... "
" ... Emerson," she managed, her head rolling, lolling to the side. Huff-squeak. Chitter-pant. "Uh ... " She wasn't having much luck getting her words out. Just sounds. The natural 'animal sounds' of her species: squeaks, chitters, the like. But, to be fair, she did manage to make a few monosyllabic exclamations. "Oh ... mm ... " Her thighs felt hot. So hot, like the fur was melting. Her legs seeming suddenly heavy. They were parted, kept apart, and she couldn't move them even if she wanted to. Felt too lazy. Felt too content. She didn't wanna move 'em. She was weak with pleasure.
And he was drunk on it. Not just on simple pleasure, no. But the pleasure of her sex, which was a special pleasure, indeed.
Taste, texture, touch. Tempting, tantalizing!
Totally ...
... terrific.
Sex!
The western jumping mouse squeaked, clutching. At air. At the sheets. Her breaths coming as erratic, haphazard things. But, oh, none of it bad. Oh, what beautiful desperation! What sublime sensitivity! What ...
... pussy! Maybe a crude, simple word. Maybe. There were more poetic ways to describe the feminine treasure, surely. Ways that called to mind flowers and things. Sunshine and things. But, in his happiness, he could only think of 'pussy.' It was in his mind. The word. The image. The actual, breathtaking thing itself. His sniff-twitching mouse-nose pressed, pressed to those petal-like lips, those soft, fleshy folds. Pressed, sniffing, getting hit, breath by breath, with her sex-scent. Her rodent pheromones. It made him gape for breath. It fogged his mind. He moaned without realizing it. His senses were so overwhelmed.
Squeak!
He proceeded to lick. Lick. Rationally, it made no sense. That one would wish to stick their muzzle between someone's legs and just go at it. But, oh, he wished to, yes. This craving! This hunger! This feverish need to run his tongue up and down her vulva, inside the folds. Outside, up to her hooded, little nub. Her pleasure point. He lip-nibbled it without a second thought. Because he had to. Because it prompted pleasure-sounds from her. She liked it. He liked it. And he sighed, heavily, through the nose, going, going down. A bit. Down a bit. His tongue was modest, no mistake. He couldn't stick it out all that far. It wasn't a tongue built for lapping or curling. It was built for simple, tender licks. Little licks and little touches.
"Mm ... mm ... " Her nose flared. Twitched. Sniff-twitched. Her tail, half-pinned between her and the bed, gave half-hearted snakes. Her eyes closed. Her head on a pillow. She sighed heavily, dreamily, letting him have it. He was a male mouse, and muff was his specialty. It didn't matter that he'd done this a hundred times before and would do it a hundred, a thousand times more. He did it well! And he wanted it.
And who was she to say no?
His muzzle pressed, pressed. Let up. Pressed. In a muzzle-humping motion, eyes closed, nose flaring, whiskers brush-brush-brushing her furry groin, the fur more tufted down there. Thicker, as groin-fur tended to be. All the scent locked in. Oh. And, also, the bare, pink pussy-lips only standing out more clearly when surrounded by all that fur. Her vulva stood out like a jewel, pouting, warm, waiting.
"Uhn ... uh ... "
His tongue-tip probed her vagina, now. Finally. Oh, the ultimate source of his interest. Lick, lick. Little drops of fluid escaping from her steamy, muscular honey-pot, and his mind was swim-swimming with lust. Tempered. Tempered by his love for her, and hers for him, and their mutual, spiritual knowing.
"Oh ... " Her big foot-paw (built for jumping) raised up. Up. Instinctively.
He put a free paw on her leg, holding it up. Up in the air.
Her toes curled with steamy pleasure ...
... and uncurled.
Lost in the seemingly complex notion of sexuality was the fact that sex itself was so stunningly simple: take horniness, and then put a 'him' inside of a 'her,' and add a bit of movement.
Voila!
That was it! Such a simple, delirious recipe. So hard to stay away from, once you'd tasted it. Once you knew. And, oh, if you were a rabbit, you knew. You knew. You knew better than any-fur could. You knew at least three or four times a day.
And she knew.
He knew.
With each other.
Mutual knowing.
For it was true, wasn't it, that the 'simple, delirious recipe' from which they were cooking tasted quite bitter without that infamous, necessary spice: love.
Without love, this was nothing. This was feral. This was meaningless.
But with it, meaning. With it, purpose.
With.
Love.
And the two snow rabbits made no mistakes about that. Oh, yes, lust was here. Healthy and evident. (And quite a bit of fun!) But it only existed within the confines of their love, a love that had grown, slowly, surely, and had blossomed into such a thing! Into such trust and mutual devotion, into such respect and consideration. Free to be vulnerable in each other's presence. She was his confidante, his advisor. He told her things he couldn't tell anyone else. For a captain had to be a captain. At all times. Except in the privacy of his own quarters. And with her, in that privacy, he could be himself.
And she, in turn, had found in him things lacking in other snow rabbit males: a veiled sense of play, a sense of humor. Oh, restrained, of course. But there. Things there. Things that appealed to her, that she craved for. His gentle, humble confidence, and his bright demeanor, and his faith.
Ada (well underway with her actions after they'd taken a brief, necessary water break) hovered over him, her body on top. On top. Joined to his. Vaginal walls slick, steamy, snugging around his penis. As she rocked. Rocked. Rock, rock, stop. "Uh ... uhn." Her bare, supple breasts hung, loose and wobbly, over him. (Graham made a mental note: 'do more with her breasts.') As she started again. Rocking, gyrating her hips to his, controlling the motion of in and out, in and out.
Graham, eyes half open, eyelids hooded, huffed. He laid there. As she'd asked him to. ('You have enough pressures on you ... as a captain, as a leader. Leave this lead,' she'd whispered, 'to me.') His perception of reality was dunked in a pool of warm, sizzling pleasure. Heat. The pure, perfect heat of her pussy, her body's interior. The moistness. The slickness. Oh, the feel! The feel of it. Of her, and of this, and ... and ...
... their belly-fur meshed, bellies rubbing, warm and touching, bodies writhing in a passionate embrace. Muzzles kissing, wetly. And genitals kissing, even wetter. A sharing of sense and self, a joint venture for purity and pleasure, for a connection that could only be described as this: that they, male and femme, should join together to become 'one fur, one flesh.' And that the act may be blessed.
Emerson dearly sucked on her lower lip. The moisture, the taste, ands his saliva stringing together with hers, as he pulled his hips back, squeaking as he did so. As he huffed, as he pushed back in. Perfect bliss, this perfect fit: that her vaginal walls would so completely encompass his penis. And that the shaft of his penis would rub against every portion of her walls. That this was the most unselfish of acts.
Bare.
Naked.
Vulnerable.
Fused together, the two young mouses squeaked. In unison. Chittered. In tandem. Both grinding, grinding, pushing, pulling. Fingers weakly clutching at each other's fur. Heartbeats heard with blood-gorged, dish-like ears. Breaths magnified. Squeaks, squeaks. Oh, they echoed, and oh, oh. Oh. In order to get pleasure, you had to give it. They were both tied together by an instinctive, physical urge, a need. Oh, a need. A deep-seated need. He gently, gently drove his mouse-hood in and out of her body, the friction so blissful that he wondered if it were truly real. To feel this, so fierce a pleasure, that grew inside him, threatening to go off like a firework. It hardly made sense.
Oh, sense? What sense, young mouse?
Do not make sense of it!
Just make it.
So, he did, delighting in her body. Her presence. Her company. Her warmth. He delighted in it, pushing his hips forward. His sensitive, so-stiff penis enveloped in the God-designed sheath that was her vagina. Oh, perfect. Oh, yes. His furry, grain-colored sac drawing tight, tighter. To his body. Gently slapping her vulva with each forward hump, leaving his testicles a bit damp, a bit matted. And more than a bit swollen with excitement, with build-up.
Azalea, beneath him, beneath his light, tender warmth, was a benefactor of his eager in and out, in and out. Oh, yes. Oh, surely. Oh, her paw fished, fished. Fished between their bodies, going down. Fingers reaching, poke-poking. Prodding. Oh. Pushing, pushing at her un-hooded nub, whimpering as she did so. Reveling in that fierce, direct stimulation. Her walls already swollen, tightening, ready to flutter and spasm in that milk-milking motion that would accompany her coming orgasm. That would ... that ... that ...
" ... ah! Ah ... hah," came the huffs. From him. Losing control. Losing cohesion. Nearing release. Shaking, his paws weakly held to her hips. His grip slipping, and a rabbit-bark building, building in his throat, until ... " ... bark! Bark!" His hips giving an instinctive, upward hump.
Her body weight pressed down, down, her paws on the sheets. Arms bent. Lower body rocking, gyrating, and ...
... mew. Mew! Mew-mew-mew.
Ada swallowed, so hot. Fur matted with sweat. Fur ... fur ... " ... oh, ohh ... ohhhnn." Sharp breath. Huff. "Uh!" Huff. "Oh ... " Mewing, mewing, as her pussy went into convulsions. Muscles wracked by tremors. Cervix dipping down, walls gorged, rippling.
His penis spurt, spurt, spurted. Jerk. A spoonful of rabbit semen, white and hot. Jerk. Each ejaculation like a lightning bolt. Sizzling his nerves. Another rabbit-bark, eyes screwed shut, ears wilting. "Huh ... uh ... "
Ada lay atop of him, now, still joined (as best as they could be, in this position). She trembled, whimpering in physical ecstasy, breathing, "Gr-graham ... oh ... "
"Oh, Ada," was the easy, dazed response, his arms around her back. Oh, he hugged her. Closely, warmly. Oh, to never let go. Oh ...
... the two mouses squeaked. Orgasmic, body-sharing squeaks, souls imprinting in an act of utmost intimacy, of highest art.
"Azalea ... Azalea," he whispered, in his airy, effeminate voice. He sucked, weakly, on her furry, whiskered cheek. And then licked her lips. Oh, a kiss. So spent of energy. But not yet spent of love. "Darling," he panted, breaking the kiss, full of such need. Emotional need. The physical dealt with, and the emotional welling, welling. Emotions pooling and spilling out of him in fervent, confessional whispers and gentle, smacking kisses.
And she took it all. And reciprocated.
Two mouses, fur matted with sweat, whiskers all a-twitching, noses all a-sniffing, tails snaking all over the bed-sheets. Those same sheets damp with fluid, warm with body heat. Oh, two mouses wrapped in each other's arms, in the afterglow of sweet, succulent sex (of the purest love-making kind).
Oh, cuteness reigned!
She panted, licking her dry lips, stretching lightly ...
... before breaking to the right. Dribble-dribble-bounce. The rubber, orange ball on the wooden court. The sound of it echoing in the empty gym, off the old bleachers. Light was streaming in through the upper windows. Dribble-dribble. Stop. Stop. Back to the basket. Dribble with a paw, scoot back, scoot back, as if being guarded, and turn, hop, hop, hop, release ...
... and the ball bounced on the rim, falling in with a swish. Leaving the white net to sway a bit, and leaving the ball to bounce itself to a stop on the floor, where it rolled a few feet away. And Aisling, still panting, went to fetch it.
"Admirable form."
Her ears waggled, and she spun a bit, heart hammering. "Seward. I ... " A pant. "I did not hear you come in." She was in the simulation room. It was a better 'escape' than the gym was. And, besides, this simulated basketball court was light years ahead of the small, dinky one in the gym, which only had one basket in a corner.
"I did not mean to startle you," he said, eying the orange rim, the glass backboard. And then looking back to her.
She just panted, saying nothing. Her whiskers giving a singular twitch, she bent down, picked up the basketball, and stood back up. "I, uh ... "
" ... need water. When was the last time you took a drink?"
"I ... " An unknowing shake of the head. "Ten minutes ago."
"You know our species dehydrates easily," he said, going to the sidelines. Where her water bottle was. He grabbed it, padding back to her, slowly. "Here." He tossed it.
She had to drop the basketball in order to catch the water bottle. A slight sigh, and, "Seward ... why are you here?"
"Drink," he whispered.
She hesitated, and then put her big, front rabbit-teeth on the 'nipple' of the bottle, pulling it open. And, tilting the bottle upward, she suckled. Suck, suck. Taking a few big gulps. She'd needed water more than she'd realized. Maybe, came a dark, inner voice, you're trying to hurt yourself. Maybe you 'forgot' to drink on purpose.
"You do," Seward repeated, "have admirable form ... but you could work on your release."
"My release ... "
" ... should happen at the apex of your hop. Not while you are still going up." He padded closer to her.
"It is illegal to enter someone's simulation ... without asking," she said.
"That rule was made by furs who have sex with holograms," was the blunt response, "and do not want anyone else to know about it. If you have nothing to hide ... " He looked around, and then to her. " ... than my entrance should not bother you. I DID," he added, "use the door chime ... but you did not answer."
"So, you decided to come in, anyway?"
"Yes."
She gave him a look. "Are you telling me you've never had sex with holograms?"
"Is this an appropriate topic of discussion?"
"You brought it up."
Seward flushed beneath his cheek-fur. With pure embarrassment. And swallowed. "I have," he whispered. "The fur who claims they've never done so ... is a liar."
Aisling said nothing to that. But she, too, became flushed beneath the cheek-fur. She just tilted her head at him. In acknowledgment.
A breath. And he changed the subject. "I could help you with your shot if ... "
" ... why are you here?" she demanded, suddenly. She finally put her water bottle down (realizing she was still holding it). She swallowed, avoiding eye contact, and picked up the basketball. "You never said why you were ... "
" ... here for you. I am here," he said, very quietly, "for you."
A blink, and she stood up straight. She twitched a bit. "What ... what do you ... "
A sigh. "You are my breeding partner for the next twenty-four hours ... starting this evening. Starting now," he said, a tinge of desperation in his voice. He tilted his head. "I ... " A flush. "I need to breed. Soon." His eyes darted. "I went to your quarters to breed with you, but you were not there. So, I came here ... "
"Oh."
Seward's features drooped. "You forgot."
"No, I ... "
" ... were you in here to avoid me?" he asked, sounding hurt. And then, voice going very quiet, "Is that why you were so startled when I came in here? Were you planning to defuse your 'peak' with a hologram? And not with me?" His whiskers twitched. He no longer sounded hurt. He WAS hurt.
"Seward, I ... no. No, that's not," she whispered, "true. I was not going to do that. I just came in here," she insisted, swallowing, eyes darting all over, "to burn off some ... " She trailed. "I just lost track of time."
The male snow rabbit let out a breath, biting his lip. He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. But he couldn't be mad at her. Couldn't. And not just because snow rabbits couldn't get angry. He did love her, after all. But isn't love a feeling? You CAN feel feelings, Seward. You know that. You just can't express them. They're inside, trapped, frozen in the ice of your soul. For your own protection. Let them out, and you'll turn feral. But love, he wondered. What of love? Will it turn me feral? No. No, it won't, but it hardly matters. For you still can't truly feel it. Not deeply. You can only feel love in a filtered, diluted way. You can thaw yourself, but you can never melt your barriers. To do so would be deadly.
"Seward ... "
The male snow rabbit blinked, looking to her. His thoughts, his internal monologues slipping away. As he said, "You must be nearing your 'peak' ... yes?"
A hesitation. Before she nodded.
"What were you going to do?" he whispered. "Tell me the truth ... "
" ... Seward, I was going to breed with you. I just ... lost track of time. I told you."
He squinted, swallowing. And he closed his eyes, sighing through the nose. And, when his eyes opened again, he padded toward her.
She tensed a bit. As if afraid. Not afraid that he would hurt her. But afraid that he was going to hug her. Or kiss her. Or ...
" ... the basketball?"
"What?"
"May I have it?" he whispered. He licked his lips. "Please?"
She slowly gave it to him.
"Watch my foot-paws. Watch my legs," he said.
Aisling just nodded.
Seward drib-dribbled the basketball. Bounce-bounce. And he padded back, back, behind the arc. Behind the three-point line. He prepared to shoot, but paused. And, eye-smiling, said, "Computer ... " Chirrup. " ... add crowd-noise."
The sound of a chattering, cheering crowd filled the gym-space. Squeaks, squawks, mews, purrs, barks, and every sort of fur-sound. Creating a din, a background murmur. Not loud enough to hurt the ears. But loud enough to create an atmosphere. And Seward dribbled, dribbled, and dashed. To the left, and then stopped, bouncing the ball between his legs, as he went toward the key. Before retreating. Going back, toward the tip, the top of the arc, and a big hoppity-hop! And launch! And ...
... swish.
The crowd (as it were) went wild.
And Seward eye-smiled, nodding to the empty gym, saying, "Computer ... " Chirrup. " ... cease crowd-noise."
And the sound went away. Replaced by the still-bouncing ball, which soon came to a stop. And Seward's own panting. As he padded back to her with his bare foot-paws.
And Aisling saying, "That was ... impressive." A breath. "I did not know you played basketball."
"There are many things you do not know about me," was his response. Not a mean-spirited response. But simply a statement of fact. "If you wish to know ... more," he whispered. "I would be willing to ... "
" ... what?" she whispered.
"Open up," was his equally-soft response. And he paused, looking to the wooden floor, remarking, without meeting her eyes, "But I have a feeling that you would be unwilling ... or unable," he added, looking up, now, "to reciprocate."
Aisling said nothing. Just bit her lip. Her ears waggled a bit.
He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed. Feeling somewhat tired, perhaps. And, opening his eyes, said, "The warm-blood prey, they ... they say that their Savior carries their burdens for them." A slight pause. "They say that, through Him, they have new life."
Aisling hesitated. Before saying, sounding frail, "I am too far gone ... for new life."
"I do not believe that," Seward replied. With such genuineness in his tone.
Aisling said nothing further.
Seward, after a few moments, took another tired breath, eyes darting again. He closed them, opened them. "I really ... I really need to breed," he whispered. But whispers, in this simulated gym, seemed to carry. Seemed louder than they should've been. Louder kinds of quiet. "I just ... I am sorry, but I cannot wait much longer. I know you can't, either." His heart was hammering. His thoughts starting to get away from him. He felt a tingling in his groin. He needed it. He needed her. His rabbit virility, his breeding drive building, building. Like steam. It needed a release.
She swallowed, nodding. Her pupils were dilated. A sure sign of her deteriorating self-control. "We, uh ... "
" ... will go to my quarters."
"But ... "
" ... is that a problem?" he asked, panting.
Licking her lips, she shook her head. "No. No, I just ... "
" ... Aisling."
"Yes?" She swallowed again.
Seward opened his muzzle. Was about to blurt it out. To say 'I love you.' But he didn't. Not yet. Not now. Not here. Wait, Seward. Wait. So, he shut his muzzle, looking to the floor of the court. "Do not be afraid of me," was all he said. "Please ... "
" ... I am not afraid of you."
"But are you afraid?" was the half-statement, half-question. "If not by me, then ... " He trailed.
"I am afraid," was her honest response. She didn't elaborate. Didn't expand on that. Just left it. It was difficult enough to admit such a thing. But at least she'd finally admitted it. Maybe that was a step.
"Come with me," Seward said, extending a paw. "We will go to my quarters. I will keep you safe ... "
She opened her muzzle, to comment on that.
But he wouldn't let her. Repeating, "Come with me ... "
"It is not like I have a choice," was her whisper. Unable to hold it back. And why she said it, she didn't know. Maybe because she was unable to let herself be happy. Maybe. Maybe this, or maybe that. But she regretted it as soon as she'd said it.
"Then let us ... breed like the mere animals," Seward responded, with the hurt showing in his eyes, and his tone deflated, "that we are. For no other reason," he said, "than because we have to." His voice showing that restrained snow rabbit sarcasm. But it was hard to make it sound sincere. Simply because: he loved her so much it was beginning to hurt. And he just didn't understand why. Why this had happened.
"Seward, I ... I am sorry. Please, don't be ... " She padded right up to him, taking his paw. Meshing her fingers with his. And she gave his paw a squeeze. "Shall we go? Please? I wish to ... I want to," she assured. "Please."
He lightened, an eye-smile melting onto his face as he led her out of the simulation room, by the paw, to his quarters. All the while, a bit of hope in his hop. And in his heart. And that was enough to go on.
It was enough to make him wonder ...